


Omitted

by inopinion



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 15,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2671523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inopinion/pseuds/inopinion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shots that aren't included in serialized stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flipped

I am reluctant to say the least, but I will be Dauntless and it's clear from the crowd that this is where every Dauntless in my age group is spending their time. Lauren's changed into something just as tight as our first date, but even shorter and her boots come up to her knees. Nothing since day one has felt second nature, so I tell myself to just give in, to be apart of this faction one-hundred percent. So I follow her in and let the sound grind out my thoughts. She puts a drink in my hands and is nice enough not to drag me out right a way. She eyes the floor of rything bodies and I know I can't stall much longer. We're catching the gaze of onlookers and Lauren looks a little proud to be with me. A second drink and a few more of those jealous looks, and I'm ready to give in.

She calls into my ear, "You're good on your feet, just move to the music and follow me." She smells like spirits and apples. I follow her out and she immediately puts my hands on her hips. She sways back and forth and I'm stiffly internalizing the push of her hands on my hips down into my toes and before long I think I'm starting to get the hang of this. I look around and see others moving more fluidly or timed exactly with their partners. But I also see girls with full grins bouncing and grinding on each other, no man in site, on a girls night out.

Lauren, thankfully, hasn't abandoned me yet and turns and  rubs up against me in a way that feels like sin. I like the way her hip bone feels under the tight knit of her dress and how she presses into me. I like the energy and the heat. I like feeling the floor move and the air vibrate. I love how each song disappears into the next and that quiet moments are few and far between. I really like it when she calls into my ear, "Is there anything you're not good at?"

 

We stop to quench our thirst and then rush back out to enjoy more of each other. It's well into the night before they start closing down and pushing us out into the pit. I didn't realize how drenched I was until the cold of the open air sent shivers up my body. And I  drape my arm around Lauren to keep her warm. She walks with me back to my apartment and in through the door. We crash loudly still laughing and chatting into the living room.

 

"Didn't realize you'd have company." Zeke shouts his apologies, standing up to leave.

"No, no." Lauren assures him, "You don't have to leave, I'm not staying." she glances at me with a smile, "I just wanted to grab my sweater, from earlier." she snags it from the back of the couch and I follow her back into the hallway.

 

"Thanks for making me go tonight, it was fun." I admit, my hands still on her hips.

"It's always fun to go with a good dancer." She pats my chest, then leans in and touches her lips carefully to mine. It's like she doesn't want to break me. "I'll see you later, okay?" I watch her stride down the hallway.

"So, what's up?" I ask, turning into face Zeke, who's already sunk down on the couch.

"Shauna." He grumbles.

"What about her?"

"I told her I wanted to like, make us official, and she said she still wants to see other people." he's looking down at his hands and I can tell he's more upset than his tone  allows. "So I don't know, I thought you might actually understand."

"Yeah, I think I do." I smile sympathetically, "How about some tea?" I click the burner on and set the kettle, because there’s one thing that transcends factions, and that’s the power of tea. "Do you mind if I change?"

"Go ahead." He agrees then snickers when I disappear into the bathroom to do so. "I've seen you naked like a million times, you know."

"Shut up." I laugh a little, because he's right and it makes me feel ridiculous in my compulsion to modesty. "Drink your tea." I pour water over some packets and hand him a mug. "So, you want to get serious with Shauna?"

"I don't know, I guess so. I mean, I told her." He shakes his head, "Now she'll think I'm clingy."

"Maybe she'll come around." I don't actually believe that, Dauntless don't usually settle down until they're in their mid-twenties, "You probably just surprised her. I mean, you really love to date."

"Yeah, I use to." He admits, "But since my dad, I don't know it makes life seem short. And if you know what you want, why wait?"

"What if you don't know what you want?" I don't mean to steal the focus, but I could use the advice probably as much as he can.

He's quiet and evaluates, "Then you should be seeing more than one girl, you don't want to send the wrong message." He warns. "Guess we're in opposite situations, eh?"

"Eh?"

"You have a girl you're not sure you like, but she thinks you're exclusive; I like a girl who's not ready to be exclusive."

"She thinks we're exclusive?" This terminology is new to me and probably sounds like another language coming out of my mouth.

"Uh, yeah." He says like it's the most obvious thing.

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit."

"I've got a problem." I admit, "I mean, I like her, but I don't think I like her like that."

"I saw you let her kiss you, and the hand holding - I figured you had to be pretty serious, you know, by your standards."

"I mean, yeah, of course I like that, I like a lot of the things she wants to do. But it's just doesn't sit well with me. It's like I'm taking advantage of her."

"Girls." Zeke sighs, "And sissy-pants abnegation boys." He jibes.

"I'm adjusting." I smirk.

"How far you go?" I keep my mouth shut, “second base?"

"What does that even mean?"

"You, know, feel her up?"

"What's a base?"

"I don't know, it's just a saying." He shrugs off, "So you haven't felt her up yet?" I focus on keeping a neutral face, but he's channeling his inner candor and gleefully shouts, "Mmmhmm, nice little handful!" He squishes the air. "You eat her out yet?"

"Shut up," I groan. "Are you ever going home?"

He's laughing, "Prude." He sips, "I've still got my tea to drink. So, you going to break it off with her?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You don't have to."

"Yeah, I do" 


	2. Trust No One

The liquid stank like sweetened feet prevailing over all other scents that dared try to waft freely. Amar roughly pushed the mug into his frozen fingers, right under his nose. It was enough to send him stumbling to the bathroom instead.

"You're an asshole." Four declared, having heaved up splotches of blood along with the bile.

"No one made you drink."

"No one stopped me either."

"Not your baby sitter." He reminded, leaning in with the cup.

"Aren't you?" Four glared before retching one last time.

"So, what do you remember?" Amar handed him a wash cloth,, setting the tea on the counter to cool.

"That I'm never drinking again."

"Yeah, I remember you saying that at least five times." Amar smirked, "What I meant was, if you remember your ramblings last night?"

Four froze, the cool cloth tapped to his neck and eradicating the heat while he contemplated through the pounding in his temple. "Fuck. You." He groaned. He'd been filleted open by Bud's special blend of grain alcohol and fruit juice and Amar's gift of gab.

"See, more like a therapist than a babysitter." Amar put his arm around him and helped him so he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. "You know, I have a better chance of helping you when I know the full story."

"I don't need your help." Four griped, pushing his head as close to his knees as he could.

 


	3. Tickle

"I'm all finished here." Four announced, putting the tools back in the bag.

"Here, take her." Shauna holds up a toddler that gazes at him with distrusting expression. He looks back alarmed and hesitating, but his hands go out to grip her under her arms anyways. "She's not a bomb." Shauna scolds at how he holds her out at arm's length, he pulls her in closer. Shauna busies herself with packing the diaper bag in the corner, while tears start to bubble up on the rim of the child's eyes.

"What do I do?" He asks as a whimper starts past her lips accelerating the oncoming panic.

The little body of curls squeals, "Ickle!"

"She wants you to tickle her." Shauna sighs, like it's the most obvious thing.

Four looks between Shauna, occupied, and the increasingly distressed child. "How?"

"Seriously?" Shauna rolls her eyes, "Do it soon before she has a melt down."

Four carefully positions her against him so he can use a freer grip and jiggle her belly. She shrieks and giggles. "Again!" So he does, smiling at her gleeful response. She's like a puzzle that came together easy, but not easy enough to make him feel comfortable.

"See, not so bad." Shauna takes her back and he breaths a little easier. "Didn't you like to be tickled when you were a kid?"

"I don't remember." he shrugged.

"Well, when you have your own, try to remember, they like to be tickled."

He swallowed hard at the thought.


	4. Amar Outcast

Amar’s return had been about as much his choice as when he left. When the government swarmed into the Bureau the weeks following the wipe, they removed him from the security forces under suspicion of conspiring with Tris. Told him he’d be in a desk job or nothing. It was just the push he needed to come home. It wasn’t easy. He had to convince George to live with the constant reminder of his sister, and take a heavy dose of truth serum to convince the leadership that he was there for the right reasons. Not, as some whispered, as some spy for the outside. Over all, the mood was jovial, if not slightly confused, when the two of them slid into a small apartment after a thorough greeting by friends and acquaintances.

With the leadership decimated, he thought they might ask him onto the council, but the suspicions persisted beyond the serum. And so he had to settle back into the periphery of his previous position, training programs and maintaining the equipment that went with that. Without Four to help, he'd hoped Lauren would fill the role. And while she'd been assisting occasionally, she'd become uncomfortable with combat training and coddled the members that suffered similarly. And she wouldn't run the simulations, she barely made it through her own. Four coming back was like a light in the tunnel.


	5. Amar's a pest

**Unused scene from "Something New"**

Routines calmed him, stabilized him and made it seem like everything was alright, predictable, normal. But twice doesn’t make a pattern. After going through his landscape in the morning, the jolt of adrenaline made him irritable, sullen. Word quickly spread to stay clear while he took it out on the punching bags, moderation wasn't something he was interested in practicing.

Amar watched him with concern, stripped down to a white tank top left over from Milwaukee. He was sweat soaked, so that the black of his tattoo shown through the white. Amar was convinced by the Abnegation hands that Four probably didn’t intend on the display. Fortunately, the blood splashed pink across his side was distracting enough to avoid gossip. He pulled up a stool and sat just in Four’s peripheral bringing slices of apple up to his mouth ever so often.

“You just going to sit there?” Four spat, hammering into the bag.

“You going to tell me why you can't get past the baby in your landscape?”

“No.” He punched again.

“Then I guess I’ll have to sit here until you fall over or die of blood loss.”

His arms were past falling off. His legs didn't want to shuffle and brace anymore. His neck ached when he let his head bow chin on his chest. He looked at his knuckles, split and bruised. Then at the apple slice Amar pushed through his lips, his stomach rumbling. But he wasn’t in the mood to entertain Amar’s tactics, he threw his shirt over his shoulder on his way out to his apartment.

“Same time tomorrow?” Amar called after him, amused despite his concern.


	6. Story Snippets 1

_**Story snippet from my tumblr... let me know if you want to see more posted here - rather than searching tags over there. I'll only post ones I wrote with Something New in mind.** _

* * *

 

_._

_**SeventhSanctum prompt: Such a interesting time, this time of wars among the gods.** _

The cold metal sliding on his face feels wet, slick, and alive. The shock rocking him out of his bed with flailing arms batting at the snaking, dark coil extended from an outstretched hand. The laughter erupts, scarring his ears as he takes it in full.

"What's the matter, afraid of belts?" Eric taunts him, letting the buckle jingle.

He charges him, arms snapping out to contact Eric's arms and rams him into the wall. The action wasn't without recoil, Eric's hands bouncing against his torso without the room necessary to mount a defense. Eric doesn't drop the toothy grin until knuckles peel his lips across them and blood slurps into his spit. With both of them off balance, retaliation isn't easy, but the weeks of training has helped perfect their reactions.

Blows rain back prodding them across the squeaking floors while the other boys watch and marvel. There's differences in form and technique, but no one wagered on a winner.

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* * *

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"Just… Don't leave." He forced out, struggling with what he actually wanted to say. He wanted to tell her he forgave her, that he'd never hurt her, that he'd never leave her again, but all three felt too close to lies to squeeze past his lips. "What ever this is, I want it." He declared instead.

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* * *

 

.

Love isn't the words or the longing look just before ruffling up the hem of a shirt. Love isn't the glittery presents or the dinners spent wooing. Love isn't alive in the vows lost in the wind so many years ago.

Love is a man chocking down the driest accident ever inflicted on a pork chop and saying, "Thank You."


	7. Story Snippets 2

**Three more snippets from my Tumblr... If you haven't figured it out already - I have a story called "Something New". Click my name, start reading, tell me what you think. - Thanks**

* * *

Reluctantly, she buttoned up her coat to walk through the square and back to her apartment. If she used her imagination, the added warmth felt a little like being held and heated by him. While she wanted to revel in it, to hug herself tightly and imagine her arms to be his, the further from the moment, the more confused she became.

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* * *

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If he would just relax, let his eyes close; he could have been asleep in seconds if it weren't for the accelerating thrum of his heart every time he contemplated his last nightmare. He convinces himself that exhaustion kept him from remembering, from waking up, maybe even from having them all together. He propped himself up with an elbow shifting side to side on the hard-seated kitchen chair to relieve a little of the ache the hours of stillness has attached to the position. He stated an empty promise to himself: he'll open his eyes at the count of three.

One…. two….

Three.

Daylight had leaked across the floor and was striped across his face. The sun blared onto his unprotected retina. He squirmed, stretched and become aware. The pungent fumes of coffee, a now-cold cup filled by the keyboard and a cold egg sandwich by the mouse. Success.

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* * *

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He lied to himself and said it wasn't because he didn't trust her. But seeing her laughing, leaned in so her ear was perched right next to lips that refused to shout so she could hear them, it flipped a switch.

He assumed his motions were casual, slow and steady, but anyone paying attention would have seen the focused urgency. He fit himself in the small circle, just to her right. The conversation was innocuous enough, as Derrick ran through a summary of what made it to the store room. But the work related conversation wasn't enough to keep him from being eyed and evaluated, like competition, an intruder. He arched an eye brow and softly drug the back of two fingers down her spine, fitted them into back of her jeans to hang casually. Relishing in the annoyance when she leaned into him, balancing against him, not even aware that she'd been claimed.


	8. Story Snippets 3

**More Snippets from the Tumblr which were written with Something New in mind.**

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Sometimes it helps to get lost in noise. Let the thoughts weave into the chords of conversation, the staccato chop of heels on concrete. Let concerns meld into the passing phrase and evaporate in the dissonance. Allow the elevation of a small child's gleeful shriek settle between the heavy bones and delicate cartilage.

When all human sounds are silenced, when the wind overwhelms each sense, all there is is thought, breath, heart beat, and life impinged only by itself. A void left behind to ache, though all at once be filled from inside.

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* * *

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She can't breath, her chest feels so heavy. But the decision isn't a surprise. If she's honest, she knew it all along. This way, it's at least not her, it's them.

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* * *

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Long days don't always feel justified. Even though she's satisfied and content, she questions the value of spending the day playing instead of contributing. Like the only reason to breath is to serve others, that was what her parents wanted for her, raised her to do. Which is why so many selfish hours feel shameful, greedy.  
She'd do it again in a heart beat.


	9. Story Snippets 4

**Tumblr dump... Story Snippets**

* * *

She'd started something he wouldn't stop, his hands on her sides, his lips pulling hers. She grabbed his cheeks and held him still, so she could explore how tender he could be. She let a hand slide into his hair and grazed her nails against his scalp accelerating his pace from her lips down to her neck. One hand peeled up her back under her shirt, the other picking up her thigh and setting her on the edge of the bed. She shimmied back. He crawled up next to her.

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* * *

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While he was examining each option on the table, he registered the lack of feeling in his legs. A disconnection between his thoughts and every nerve ending in his body all the way down to his toes. He had a sudden craving for the tangibles of his landscape, even the feel of sweat sliding down his spine more welcome than the numbness.

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* * *

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He was close, she could tell. His hips were barely constrained. Breaths came short and punctuated by muted, whining groans. His hands wanted to be on her - everywhere - but were firmly planted outside of her shoulders. He begged her, pleading with each constrained push of his body on her's until she flitted over the edge. The tension of her muscles shouted her consent. They peaked then waffled like wilted leaves all the way down in a limp overlapping plie.


	10. Story Snippets 5

**Obviously, some of this lead to nothing... but snippets I wrote when thinking about Something New all the same.**

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He woke up when the springs of the mattress shifted. The warmth of the covers disappearing quickly after her. He watched her shimmy into some clothing and out to the bathroom. He rolled onto his back, peeling back the comforter to keep himself from falling asleep, but he was already lucidly dreaming when she came back in.

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* * *

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When he's running its like there's magic in his legs. A layer of vapor guards his feet and they never touch the ground. Of course, if that were true, she wouldn't be watching after him wishing someone else had volunteered. Or that the wind would blow away the foot prints that trailed after him.

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* * *

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I hear it before I can understand it. The loud yelps and guttural screams terrifying in volume but not laced with pain. A wall muffles the words, if there are any, but the closer I come to the door, the easier it is to make out multiple sources. There's a smallness that constrains the shrill cry. Its youthful and raw, a voice barely dropped into adulthood. The other is baritone and staccato, jabbering out syllables quickly and forcefully.

I'm just outside, but all the possibilities of what await inside make me think twice about pressing the button.


	11. Story Snippets 6

From the tumblr...

* * *

While most nights he's holding her, there are nights like this one where she ends up cradling him back to sleep. In the best of cases, it's after they've ground out their demons against each other's skin. In the worst, it's after his demons have ground his nerves down to silt with vivid nightmares. In either case, she counts his breaths until they're soft and even, cards her fingers against his temple, and presses out the worries in his neck. It's through trial and error that she's developed a belief that without all three, they'll be starting the process over in a few hours.

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* * *

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His legs were spaghetti, he almost missed the step onto the train his toe catching by an inch. The near miss made his heart leap, adrenaline coursed through him as he hung out over the gravel. The passengers from Amity looked disapprovingly as he leaned out and let the wind in. But it helped him wake up and gather his resolve to be civil. Even more, it helped him allow himself to feel excited about seeing her.

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* * *

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He misunderstood the looks they gave when he passed. Each glance was accusatory. Every nod of the head dismissive. Tilts of their chins put him on the defensive, prepared for a challenge. He swore his back was on fire from the focused power of so many eyes. When he finally made it up to the front, hauled up to stand among the leadership, he expected cat calls and heckles. So he braced, and the noise nearly knocked him over for the sheer joy and praise they all stamped into the ground and rattled through the air. Surprise displaced doubt, he was home.


	12. Chapter 12: Story Snippets 7

**These were written when exploring thoughts about Zeke and Shauna's relationship.**

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* * *

It had been long enough that he helped himself out more than twice. And so long that each attempt at satisfaction barely scraped the edge. When she moans its almost enough for him to forget the word control. If it weren't for the physical therapist teaching him how to help her, he would have dared and initiated full groping contact.

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* * *

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Today is all about baking. He carries her burdens and picks her up when she falls. He massages her limbs and holds her when she cries. He has been at every event, appointment, and in every waiting room. If its possible, she'll pour gratitude from the sugar, spoon thankfulness out of flour, and sprinkle her devotion in the pinches of salt, baking soda and nutmeg. Even if she can say it over and over, baking is the last tool she has to show him.

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* * *

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Disbelief. A small hole in and no hole out. So little blood and less pain than anyone could imagine. It's like a bee sting that shifted the world off it's axis. She's sore an stiff, inconsolable at times and angry at others. She doesn't blame anyone, not really, just hates the universe in one breath and thanks it for living in the other.

She sees things differently, now. Sees more beauty in the tired wrinkles of her mother's eyes and in the stern pucker of her father's lips. There's something secretive and hidden behind Lynn's eyes that's left unguarded by her own guilt.

Zeke has never seemed stronger to her. He pulls her up out of bed in one motion, like she weighs nothing but also like she's as precious as life itself. He's the only one that makes jokes around her, calls her short-stalk. He's who she needs. He doesn't treat her like she isn't Shauna. Like she's woken up missing more than just sensations.


	13. Chapter 13: Stary Snippets 8

**Story Snippets from the Tumblr... enjoy.**

Candor cells, Erudite cells, closets in Abnegation and finally the holding pen in Dauntless. Four examined the rusted spot welds where the bars were haphazardly connected. He wondered absently if Amity had cells, or if they just locked people in the stalls with the horses. The mattress smelled like vomit, the floor around the toilet was plastered with the dried piss of the last weekend's drunk and disorderly. Even when his hands arched and swelled, the discomforts of his situation couldn't deter him from a peaceful sleep.

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* * *

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Everything from her smile on the train to cradling her along the bumpy route matched his idea of a perfect day. One that shouldn't be spoiled by restraint. He held her tighter when her back curled and arched against his chest. Her hand gripped his shoulder, holding him, then slipped up his neck and found his jaw, fingers hooked in his hair. He indulged fully in a series of fantasies, each one acted out on a new inch of exposed skin, feeling the vibration of a moan or a word lost before it hit his ears. Her arm snaked behind him and grabbed at his back like she was anchoring herself to him.

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* * *

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Patience is a virtue that never blessed him. He could bide his time, strategize, shut up when he had to. But actually being patient. The curious sniffs and darting explorations drove him crazy. But no matter what he said or how he said it, he had no control over when she'd proclaim the exact right rock or the perfect stump. He learned the hard way that being patient was better than stepping in a wet puddle first thing in the morning. Getting a puppy was changing him.


	14. Chapter 14: Story Snippets 9

**You get 4 today, since the third made it into Chapter 19 almost word for word. As a note, just because I write a snippet, doesn't mean it gets included in the story. It's just an idea.**

* * *

The world isn't full of chocolate and wine-sauce. Sometimes its just dry ham sandwiches and silence. Lately, if she's lucky, its the sort of silence that means he's locked in his own head. There's a difference to tired thoughts about laundry and alarm clocks and the stewing rage of frustration and disappointment. Tonight she bites through the layers like the click of her teeth could ignite his fuse.

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* * *

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A quiet room tolerates little dissention. Even hushed whispers said in placid tones could rip over the bobbing heads. So he gave up on squelching the broadcast of his argument. There's no point to an effort that will never meet the bar of silence. Each face whipped in his direction. Some were shocked and frozen that way, others distilled into admonishment, neither dissuaded him from his verbal assault on his wilting target.

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* * *

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She could tell when he registered her in the crowd. His eyes popped open a little wider and his chin nudged up, shoulders rolled back. He excused himself carefully, and she pushed back out to meet him on the outside edge. He kept his arms crossed, holding his elbows.

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* * *

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She thought that dogs were supposed to be on the pile of old shirts in the corner. The cold nose that cuddled into her side indicated otherwise. At least it explained why the sheets were always clean and the comforter freshly laundered. The biggest hint at his usual arrangement was the sleepy motion of his hand which had found the crest between her ears.  
"There's a dog in your bed." She grumbled.  
"Shhhh, you must be dreaming. Dogs aren't allowed in bed." He mumbled but continued the motion undeterred.

 


	15. Chapter 15: Story snippets 10

**Your Story Snippet Mash up of the day...** Read number two a couple times - just do it. It's one of my favorites.

And feel free to join me on Tumblr (Inopinion), where snippets are posted whenever the muse strikes me - especially during long meetings, mindless training sessions, and, in general, when I don't want to get up in the morning.

* * *

She's on his mind so much that the drag of the morning's meetings doesn't phase him. He misses the trolling from Charles that would usually set him off. He even let slide the catty bickering he usually didn't tolerate. By lunch, the most persistent question was if he felt alright.

.

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* * *

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A switch in his brain flipped – no, it wasn't that sudden. Two sides fought a war with his neurons. One side fueled and equipped by his pride, conscience, and self respect. The other by his under expressed hormones that demanded a ceasefire so he could focus on the clasp of her bra. With one side emboldened by the press of her tongue to the gully between his muscle and his Adam's apple, the rational, reserved thoughts were snuffed out. Now he was in a game of chicken between her touches and his, only neither was afraid anymore.

.

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* * *

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What did it mean to deserve something? Was there such a thing as entitlement? Did one event or even a lifetime of events ever really justify the feeling of being slighted when a goal wasn't granted. No, he was pretty sure no one ever deserved - they could earn, but not deserve. Something he'd do better remembering in the future.


	16. Chapter 16: Watching a Machine

**If you haven't read Something New - click my name, select it from my stories, give it a read and give me a review.**

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Four's hand ached with the added blood from being thrown up and down with each pump of his legs, but he grimaced through it.

Rafael, on the other hand was winded, panting on the side having been cajoled into attempting a work out he wasn't prepared to try. It wasn't dissimilar to how he watched Four's punishing regime in Milwaukee, and at least he wasn't frozen to the ground. Watching Four rush back and forth, tagging lines drawn on the ground with each direction change was like watching a machine progress through a pattern. Until his legs gave out and he was belly down sliding on the surface, heaving for air.

"You wouldn't have to work that hard." Amar took a seat on a bucket next to him so he could watch and pull out his stack of folders.

"What do you mean?"

"If you joined Dauntless, we have a minimum standard and that's not it." He pointed as Four was pushing himself up with a groan and then fell into fast rhythmic push ups. "What he does is above and beyond."

"Then why does he do it?"

"He's not good at moderation."

"Doesn't seem healthy."

"For him, it's better than the alternative." Amar commented, cryptically. "You know, if you're going to be here, you might as well try look like you're keeping up." He suggested, dismissing him back to join Four in much slower push ups and started to take notes on the potential initiate.

 


	17. Chapter 17: Business between friends

**This doesn't quite fit with where the story ended up. It seems I always end up cutting Amar out of the story. Something New update should fall between the 15th and the 18th of May.**

* * *

Harrison was still in charge of the facility in addition to his duties on the council, and he was swamped. Six traitors and two dead during the battle with Erudite had cleared out his staff down to just four members and a lot of destruction to recover from. While he wouldn't admit it, Four was the only hope of getting the computer system back on line. But that wasn't allowed, not until he passed the serums and the simulations and rejoined properly.

"He's emaciated." Harrison groused.

"Big word, Harry." Amar teased.

"What about his hand?" He moaned, then more tersely, "Jesus, Amar, is he going to pass? Does he even want to?" He was exhausted, selfishly wanting just a little room to breath, to catch up. It was similar to Amar's motivation which is why they're meeting regularly about Four like the other shared resources between training and facilities.

"I don't know. I've got a bit of a plan."

"Which is?" He leans forward.

"I don't want to take your time."

"No, what is it? And can I help?"

Amar evaluated and then shrugged, "With Four, getting him motivated is pretty simple. I just have to make him feel like I doubt him. Just tear him down over and over. Make him feel like I don't have any faith in him. But it's got to be a gentle touch, because he needs praise, too, or he'll fly off the rails."

"I didn't remember this guy being such a headache."

"You didn't see him in initiation. But you could help, if you got him back into the facilities group. Give him something he's good at, something he can do well over and over. You play good cop, I'll play bad cop."

"You know I can't do that." He whined and stretched his hands up over his head.

"Keep him out of the control room, if you have to." Amar conceded, "but let him install bookshelves or wash windows, those skylights could use a cleaning. Just help me out here. I need you there giving him a reason to stick with it. Make him feel like he belongs here."

"I'll try." He agreed. "How close are the wipes to getting through initiation?"

"Oh, we're a long ways off." Amar sighed. "They're like five year-olds just asking, "Why?" all the time, like they're the damned Erudites. And we saw what shit soldiers they made."

"We could invite in the factionless."

"Shut your face." Amar spat. "Can't trust them further than you can throw them. They're much better off in Amity, let them be their problem."

"You know, he's tied up in the factionless, right? I mean, he's working for Johanna for them." Harrison points out. "What's the chances that he even stays?"

"Trust me, he wouldn't go through a sim if he wasn't committed."

"How do you watch those things all day?" Harrison says off-hand.

"I try not to, I take a lot of breaks, and then I train a jerk with four fears to do it for me." He laughed, griping. "But some tiny girl broke him."

"Any chance she's coming back?" He has to ask, not because he wants her to, but because she's frightening, dangerous, unexplained.

"Yeah, always a chance. If it means being with him, I think she might."

"Shit."

"Come on, you let me back." Amar reminded, "And she saved Dauntless, twice. I think you'd like her on your side. There's a lot of political capital between her and the members."

"She doesn't know what loyalty means." He huffed. "Switching sides, betraying our leadership."

"Factionless is better than a member, a first-in-class member?" He pointedly questioned, feeling a little protective, "What's your beef with Tris?"

"Tori didn't trust her."

"Let the ghosts rule the present. Great idea."

"Let you back in." Harrison smugly smiled.

"I'm guessing that means we're done with the real business?" He started to collect together his progress charts and folders for each member in drills and each initiate.

"One more thing." He shuffles his own papers uncomfortably. "Um, ah, George asked for another extension. Says they aren't done retraining out there."

It struck harder than a blow to the gut, Amar took a breath and a long nod to gather his composure, "How long?"

"Two more weeks." Amar nodded, crestfallen, "I can deny it."

"No, no. If he needs more time."

"I ah, don't really know what to say, but I'm sorry. Things are rough for everyone."

"Is that it?"

"Yeah." He dismissed him, letting him walk out and back down to the equipment room to clean the guns because the constant chatter and hum of the meat heads outside that door were preferable to the cold silence waiting within his apartment.

 


	18. Chapter 18: Story Snippets 11

**Three more from the tumblr: inopinion, link in my profile.**

* * *

She found her sense of self in the doubtful moments. When her fingers ached and her arms shook. Just when she was ready to consider dropping, she'd convince herself once more. Once more up. Once more past who she was a moment ago and into who she could be, would be, if she kept pushing for one more.

* * *

Creativity is the bedfellow of not only idle hands, but constrained ones as well. Since the new normal settled into just normal, there was one key piece missing: passion. The not so distant past had rubbed every surface in his apartment with their bodies, some places outside, too. Each flirt a dare usually answered. But this normal has too much pain for libidos. Her's is worn inside and out and his with each of her frustrated or grimacing tears. But tonight he has an idea, a plan and she'll humor him half on hope that this time they find a little bit of the old normal that they can keep.

* * *

There are a thousand combinations of faces and body language, intonation and phrases that can convey disappointment. Lips pulled down and to the side, or eyebrows that furrow, little hums of discontent. Sixteen years of hard training smashed the usual mask of humanity off his face leaving a mirage of clues for her to piece together, all while silently screaming, "Am I enough?"


	19. Chapter 19: Story Snippets 12

**Story snippets from the tumblr, come follow me, get updates on writing, ask questions - what ever... link in my profile**

* * *

Its not like her to wake up so simply. No panic or adrenaline fueled sweats or yelps of protest or protection. Just a nagging feeling aching between her thighs. Even if she's by herself, she flushes red and tacitly snuck her hand under her waistband to meld her fantasy into her dream.

.

.

* * *

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Stalemate. Two game players staring at each other or at nothing. She won't talk, not when her first question lingers unanswered. He won't answer what she has no right to ask. But she holds the sheet of paper that becomes his progress report, its the only card and its in her hand. He knows its stupid to be this stubborn, but it doesn't mean he'll budge.

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* * *

.

The path to the overstuffed, uncomfortable couch in the center of Candor could be simplified into three words: anger management issues. This time, Johanna says the last time, he put a hole in a wall. Now a smiling woman in white was reviewing his form and giving pointed glances at his hard façade.

 


	20. Chapter 20: if Tris was less damaged

Here's the context of this unused scene...

**Point in story:**  Tris restarts initiation and they have a decent time at Amar's Sunday dinner. They're both a little drunk and she misses the train. She decides to stay with Tobias, probably at someone else's suggestion. This is MUCH earlier in the story than where the dinner scene ended up, when Four's still very thin, and not very confident about himself. Tris still has condoms in her bag.

**Why it didn't get used:**  It ignored the complexities of Tris's rape, and Harrison's pestering. Also, I wrote the Amity scene which I liked much better as a way of setting Harrison off and letting them get innocently physical. And, honestly, it's much more mature of an interaction than these two are capable of. And the following thoughts about Tris and Christina's relationship didn't really match well with what I wanted.

**What came after:**  They sleep together, like just sleep, and everyone assumes more happened, which they find embarrassing, and gets Four in further trouble with Harrison as the rumors swirl. When Christina pesters Tris into admitting nothing happens, she also inadvertently makes Tris feel like Four must not be attracted to her.

Please forgive the typos, it's pretty much unedited and requires some flexibility and forgiveness, especially for the timeline disconnect.

* * *

Delay tactics over, Tobias and Tris walked side by side silently in the hallway. He could tell she was tired, maybe a little tipsy, matching his own feelings of exhaustion. It had been months since that night on the couch, months since he'd fell asleep with her cuddled up against him. Even though it had only been weeks since the shop girl, he was struggling to keep those urges in the periphery.

He glanced at her, short and small, a healthy flush from the alcohol coloring her cheeks, and it only encouraged those thoughts to come forward. His hand went out and he clumsily pushed his fingers through hers and smiled with a blush when she looked up at him. Then it occurred to him, sex meant getting naked which in turn would put him on display. While he'd put on the first ten pounds quickly, the last ten to get into a healthy status was proving more difficult. Tris had fallen for her instructor: big, brave, strong. Four knew she'd see right through any bravado, see how he'd become a ghost: thin, weak, cowardly. It was exactly the right set of thoughts to smash any sense of urgency in getting intimate.

He dropped her hand at the door and turned the key, allowing her to step in first. He took her coat and bag, stepped out of his shoes and left her to deal with her own determined to busy himself.

"Want some tea? Water?"

"No, I'm okay." He put the kettle on, she wiped her palms on her thighs, and he wondered if she was as nervous as he was. She eyed his small stack of books, mainly manuals and technical guides, it struck him that she was avoiding sitting down.

"Are you sore?"

"What?"

"Your legs, are you sore?" He himself was feeling like he had bone bruises in the balls of each foot and pure acid in his triceps and forearms. He masochistically liked the sting in his palm as he pinched the heel of his right hand.

"Yeah, a bit." She stretched a little. "I'm sure it'll be worse tomorrow." She flipped open a little blue book, skimming through the introduction to electrical circuits and wiring. "Do you mind if I read this?" She asked as she sat down at the table and pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged.

"Sure, go ahead." He found it surprisingly hard not to let the annoyance come out. She had no reason to read it. She wasn't going to be installing lighting or switches, in a different life, she could have been wearing blue.

"Here." He pulled out the little pot of ointment from the refrigerator. "It can really help." He moved behind her and pulled her hair to the side, dabbing a little bit of the mint paste onto her neck and shoulder, pressing into the soft tissues made hard by the strain of training. She let out a little gasp that took his mind to a completely different place.

He let his thumbs shift under the collar of her shirt, pressing down between her right shoulder blade until a definitive knot caught his attention. He pressed around the edges, letting the oils of the paste lubricate while he deepened his press. She rolled her neck to the side, set the book onto the table, her arms dropped loose. He could see her eyes barely open, mouth parted, her jaw sliding back so her teeth folded her lower lip— he stopped, stepping away to tend to the whistling of the kettle and thinking of the first time he watched a domestic go down on the monitors, an effective control, for a moment.

"Sit, let me." She smiled, patting the table next to her. He clutched the mug, the heat almost enough to burn him, enough to distract him, and sat on the chair next to her, facing her. She took the ointment, dabbed her fingers and grabbed his right hand. He swallowed hard, watching her look at the scar, obviously trying not to stare, not to focus on it, but failing to conceal her curiosity. Her fingers pressed into the muscles of his forearm, pulling along the tendons and rocking the muscles back and forth over each other. It felt like heaven caught on fire with the ebbing of pain and pleasure.

Tris ached from the center of her spine through the edges of her hips when he licked his lips, staring at her with a touch of agony in the corners of his eyes. Smoothly transitioning to straddle his legs, her hands found their way up to his biceps and circled his arm around her waist, turning him into a panting statue, too focused on controlling himself to move.

The drag of her ear on the side of his neck when she pecked his collarbone broke what little resolve had held him still. Tobias' hands clamped onto her hips to hold her when his mouth sucked the skin of her neck and pinched into kisses. He pulled her tight against him, hip to hip. It was the start of a trail that swiftly landed her pinned under him on his bed, her legs gripping him and his hands exploring the layers of her shirts.

Tris is the first to start pulling clothing, arresting Tobias in mid grasp of her breast. Had he been paying attention, he could have at least hit the lights on the way over, something to keep a little dignity, but he hadn't. She stared back at him, concerned. He was staring back at her dumbly, dazed and hesitant.

"What?" She brushes his hand off her chest, pulling away from him, examining herself the best she could see. "What I do?" She asked.

"Um, nothing." He couldn't think straight, "I just, got, um distracted." When an opportunity presents itself, "I don't have any condoms." He said, faking as bashful a face as he could.

"Oh, um, you want to?"

"Yeah, well. Of course." He grinned, crisis avoided, "I mean, if you do. But, not like taking risks or anything." He measured his tone, to sound as adult as he could about it.

"Oh, I have some, in my bag." She smiled, scooting to the edge and then tip-toeing across the room to retrieve them. His heart fluttered a little in his chest, it seemed unavoidable, all that was left was deciding what reaction would be worse: laughing, being disgusted, disappointed.

"What's wrong?" She approached slowly, her arms carefully coming together to hold herself. All of her doubts racing through her own mind at how vast the distance felt between two moments so close together. "I mean, you don't have to be nice. If you don't want to, that's fine." She said it even though it was anything but, "I can stay with Amar, probably." She even started to turn, Tobias unresponsive, frozen in indecision.

"Wait, it's not…" He'd successfully stopped her, turned her towards him, but saying what he needed to say wouldn't happen with her eyes on him. So he took a breath, sat on the edge, closed his eyes and leaned his forehead onto his hands. If he opened his eyes, all he'd see was the floor boards. "It's not you." She sighed with disbelief, "I mean, it is you, but not you." He heard a choked sniffle, "I don't want to disappoint you." He rushed out, not wanting to make her cry.

Silence. He wasn't brave enough to look up, but he couldn't think of what else to say. Then footsteps, careful and slow, drawing up next to him, the weight of her body sinking the mattress beside him.

"How could you ever disappoint me?" She laid her head on his back, her arm around his waist and playing with the pocket on his pants.

"I'm not who you met. I'm different, weak." He didn't add the rest.

"Rough around the edges, maybe, but definitely not weak." She corrected, he sighed, unbelieving, "You're the strongest person I know. I'm definitely dating up." She nudged him, warming him up a little, "But if you want to wait, to… you know, do that, until we have some time between us, I get that."

"We shouldn't rush." He stated slowly letting his head come up, feeling her tighten her grip around him.

 


	21. Chapter 21: Story Snippets 13

**Four snippets for you...**

**.**

**.**

She held the box labeled 12-45a. She came to have the box only because it wasn't claimed. Either no one survived to claim it or the sentimental nature of keep sakes had been crushed from them by her faction of birth. They aren't the rings worn by her parents, she couldn't find those, or anything related to their bodies. But they would have had ones exactly like them, somehow that was close enough.

.

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Doubt, with a capital D. She laced the valves of her heart with it, each thud pumping it into every ounce of blood and tissue. She perched nervously. She watched him absently wield the blade as if it was a spoon, nearly missing his finger tips with each pass. The thunk, thunk, thunk! that pointed his statements and filled the silence. Then the shhhhzzzz took over the airwaves. Shortly after came the reassuring smell of slowly cooking chicken like an antidote to the poison. Maybe he could cook.

.

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He covers his body with his arms, hugging himself inside the layers of his jacket. He feels cold, all the insulating ideas that wrapped him were lost in the hour session. Now he's bare and raw and reflective. He's tied up in his head not processing his surroundings until one face finds his. It feels like getting caught, too flustering to formulate why she was there at all. He didn't feel cold anymore, instead flushed with blood and adrenaline enough to propel him psst with out a word.

.

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He can't be alone with her. He knows the pieces inside of him are still too of kilter. He'd either lose it in rage or lust and neither match what he wants for the future. She tries every thing to thwart his carefully planned evenings. It worries him, she's smarter than he is and eventually the door will shut and they'll be entirely on their own and she'll be facing his demons, trapped, and not knowing how close to the surface they lurk.

.

 


	22. Story Snippets 14

**More snippets migrating from the Tumblr... and holy hell, I was obviously obsessing on a theme at the time these were written...**

* * *

She struggles. He purses his lips and watches tentative. She thrashes and kicks then calms and pants to build up to the next burst of effort. Everything in him wants to throw off her assailant, save her from the suffering. But struggle and fight is simultaneously nerve wracking and, embarrassingly, turning him on. Like a good instructor, he let's her learn the lesson. Like any other teen boy watching the two girls on the mat, he'll be thinking about this latter.

* * *

The gentle pinch of her lips gripping onto his was as electric as he remembered. Tobias had convinced himself that his memories were false, that no kiss could ever feel like it both gave and took life at the same time. But it was every bit as pungent.  
The pause and purse of their tentative rhythm made his chest ache for something less chaste, another way to claim her as his. Some way to remind her that she belonged with him. But he kept his hand on her neck and around her shoulder fixing her into his embrace only stopping to stifle the spread of her hands under his shirt.

* * *

He held her face in his hands and when she smiled, he leaned down and let his lips connect. The pressure and slide of his lips against hers was like watercolors, one shade bleeding into the next, fluid until muddled in the middle. Her hands were pressing on his stomach, holding onto his shirt and he regretted needing to breath.

* * *

Is it possible that kissing is more fun when its not allowed? They've been sneaking around steeling moments in the shadows or behind doors. Pushing him one lick at a time until he cant control his thoughts. When she bats his hands away he playfully shoves her towards the train.


	23. Chapter 23: Story Snippets 15

**TUMBLR DUMP...**

* * *

He smells like ash and gun metal. There is a fine grit coating his skin. Nothing is left of his hard defences, he's a shaking tangle of limbs cleaving to her tightly. She asks but he won't answer. In the end all she gets is agreement to let her take care of him which she does with careful hands and decerning eyes. His jaw never stops quivering and neither do his hands.

* * *

He has a sudden moment of panic… What if its all the bread what if none of it is him? What will she think when this wears off and she's living with a monster?

* * *

It was a barely kept secret, his favorite thing to do was roll up under the covers and sleep. Better than cards. Better than shooting. Better than drinking or beating it out in the shower. Sleep brought dreams of more and better… Sleep brought images of her , and before her, it brought fodder for the shower. Now, sleep forgets to bring its presents, and picked up a little Hell to share.

* * *

He keeps telling himself not to be jealous, that there's no reason. But watching affection between them, innocent and innocuous as it probably is, makes his blood boil. Touches like that - on her back, her arm, his fingers splayed out between her shoulder blades as they walk - they mean nothing here, but everything to him. What's worse, even the slightest flick of his finger against her hand could have them both out on the street because no touch is casual for him.


	24. Training with Four

**Background:** Four was going to be an absolute asshole to Tris between Harrison coming down on them and her passing the loyalty test. Why? Because he's still angry and hurt, and he has daily reminders due to the lack of functionality in his hand. It's a little bit of misplaced anger combined with the fact that they can't have a real relationship to sort it out. This would be somewhat but not entirely relieved by her passing the loyalty test and getting one step closer to back into Dauntless.

 **Why unused:** I wanted to soften Four a little to stay true to the 'moth and the light' analogy Amar used, that he gets sucked in quick and almost to a fault. So being a complete prick about it didn't make sense if he's going to let her slide without requiring explanation.

Unedited and no beta on these unused scenes.

* * *

Training with Tobias was harder than being trained by Four. Tris' instinct was to lock step, keep pace, carry on and keep up. In initiation, her comparison was to other transfers that were as ill suited to the exercises as herself. Tobias had to slow himself up, trot next to her, try to prod her on before he'd eventually give up and sprint ahead.

Watching him in his routines was almost as exhausting as following his directions. She understood why he was ranked first in his initiation. He was precise, fast, driven, and stubborn. She also understood better why he was given a wide birth in the hallways. His temper bubbled just below the repetitions. And he definitely lied about being nicer.

The frustration of not being the best — not being as capable as he use to be — made him quick to burst. When his hand ached from push ups or stung like a fresh wound on the punching bag, he immediately cursed her. It made him punch harder, run longer, push more but it never made him feel any less irritated at what had happened to him because of her. Any day but landscape days, he could hold it in check. He only did his sim practice on days she wasn't training.

On landscape days, it was more than just the punching bags that got in his way. He tongue lash kids for lazing around the drinking fountain. He threw hits harder when sparring than he should have. He was running out of people willing to take his abuse.

When he was sweat slicked and shaking, avoiding Amar's glance as he exited, the last face he though he'd see was Tris'. But she was waiting for him at the entrance to the training room.

"Hey, I finished work early. Thought I'd get in extra reps." She tried a smile. In reality, she was desperate to gain some approval from him. He'd been less and less satisfied with her, more degrading, more demanding, and she thought a little extra effort might turn him back in her favor.

He looked at her, wide-eyed and a little crazed. "Sync up with Amar and the wipes." He stated, heading into the locker room without a second glance.

She did as she was told, joining in with Amar's training group for combat exercises. She kept a side eye on Tobias as he moved through the facility griping, critiquing, and scolding. Despite being with Amar, even Tris wasn't immune, getting harsh-barked orders and chastising encouragement for her failing effort against a much larger man.

For Tris seeing the rigid and absolute standard Tobias pushed himself toward could actually make a shock of apprehension course through her. She'd cringe when he lost traction or his grip failed him, each slip never warranted his reaction. His face would dart away from the onlooking gaze of the other members. While each person seemed to think nothing of his mistakes, he treated their disinterested looks like judgments.

She hadn't yet gotten in his way during one of his many stomping sessions, and she didn't plan on intervening. She'd seen him angry in Christina's apartment, like a caged animal on his way out; seeing him frustrated with himself was like watching an animal in a trap tear its own arm off.

Only when he was showered and tattered did it seem to leave him. Only when they were in the quiet mumbles of just him and her, was he even happy to see her, but never offering a smile. They'd stood outside, waiting for the train, his arms clutched around his center. Like usual, he said nothing at first, but mumbled an apology for how he snapped just before the train arrived.

The first week, he would casually direct her around with his hand on the small of her back or a tap on her harm. The small little ways she knew he only used to touch her. But the second, he met her at the entrance and silently walked her through the halls, always in front of her. The little touches gone, the small smiles replaced by focused eyes. She assumed he was keeping his distance to save himself any pain if she quit.

But when she showed up on the third Monday, again, to train, he was just as distant as he was on the following Friday and four weeks in, when they stood silently by the train tracks, he didn't even tell her he passed his landscape and regained his membership. She heard it from Zeke earlier.

"So, congratulations." She tried, smiling and holding out her hand for a Dauntless handshake. A handshake seemed innocuous, but he just stared at her palm and thanked her quietly.

"I do the loyalty check this week." She informed him.

"I know." He said simply.

"Okay." She gave up, stepping away to get on the train feeling defeated. With some distance between them, she turned her focus to Christina who would be waiting in the city center.


	25. Zeke's Dare

Deleted scene... well, alternate scene..

Why not used: Are you kidding me? You all launched a bit of rage at what little bit got left in between these two... But more seriously, Tris wouldn't be emotionally or mentally ready for this at this point in the story.

Where this fits: In Chapter 26, during the game of dare instead of Tris doing the dare she did (no spoilers), Zeke would have gotten this dare...

No betas for omitted scenes, so sorry about the typos.

* * *

(Camping game, alcohol, dare)

"Zeke, Zeke, Zeke… Kiss Tris." He spat, arching a challenging eyebrow.

"The fuck?" Zeke responded.

"You scared?"

"No. She's with my best friend." Zeke laughed, "Be serious, pick something else."

"Four isn't here." He challenged

"Come on, it's just a kiss." Another guy jeered.

Then this chorus of "chicken" and "pansy" and a few thrown pebbles at Zeke's direction.

"It's okay." Tris was red and blushing, turning to him quietly. "It's just a kiss. Two seconds."

Zeke swallowed hard, contemplated the last fight he and Four had — over nothing — and the bruises that lasted weeks. But it was just a kiss, one kiss, a few seconds. Nothing. It meant nothing. Although a little ache passed through him as he lied to himself.

Tris stood across from him, sending chastising and reproachful glances at the obnoxious taunts. She put her hand hesitantly out onto his shoulder, he leaned in, covering her cheek and neck with his rough calloused fingers.

His hands were smaller, but not less powerful or strong. He wasn't as gentle or as careful with her, seemingly to giving her more credit. Even though neither of them felt right about it, the intensity tugged at the tension between them. Like diving into a cold pool, he pulled her to him and touched their lips letting his practiced hands meander down from her chin across her shoulders and, sending chills with each finger tip, down her spine. In the howl of the crowd, they had silence between them before he roughly pushed at her hips and split them apart.


	26. Original CH9

**Original CH9 (after Tris and Matthew, after Four's finger, before they collide at the Bureau)**

**Skipped because... I didn't like it. I was writing the path to her ending up at the Bureau at the same time as Four and it's much easier to just say the bullet moved. It also was a little telenovela with all the _OMG PREGNANT?_  so I didn't complete the chapter. And let's face it. It's kind of a filler.**

**No betas for omitted scenes.**

* * *

Tris trudged through several inches of snow hoping for relief at her monthly appointment at the start of February. She'd been stuck with a fever and painful cough for over a week. She'd blamed the cold and the viruses spreading throughout the factionless equally, but it didn't pass in a few days. It was intensifying. Her inability to breath had limited the durations of her trips. She needed to keep to the train schedule if she couldn't walk on her own. This type of weakness was always the most frustrating to her.

Her legs bobbed back and forth as white as the thin gown which barely protected her from the cold of the stethoscope. She Inhaled then exhaled, coughed then tried again. Then they went through the questions. Nausea, fatigue, feeling tired. What about her last cycle? She thought back, then felt hot, like boiling water had flooded into her face trickling out her hands. Despite the cold of the room, she radiated. "End of December." She informed him. His arms crossed while he lowered himself onto the stool across from her.

"Tris, have you been sexually active in the last month?"

"Yes." She admitted, looking down, away, like she could find a place to shrink into.

"Did you use contraceptives?"

A solid pit was forming in her stomach as sue reflected on Matthew. "Not every time." She gulped, "I'm pregnant?"

"The only thing that's sure, is that you have pneumonia, but yes, you could be pregnant." He stated, "I will have the nurse draw blood, we need to know before we do a scan, won't take more than thirty minutes. And that will sort out that question. So let's focus on the pneumonia. Okay?"

She didn't honestly know how he thought she could, but she nodded mechanically.

"You had a partial splenectomy. Typically, the residual spleen grows to full size and full function, but it can take months or even years. If it's not functioning at 100%, you're at greater risk of bacterial infections, commonly, pneumonia." She vaguely remembered this from her recovery in the Bureau. "I want to take a swab from your nasal cavity and confirm a bacterial infection before I prescribe antibiotics. We'll also need to see that blood test before I make any decisions."

She must have looked as overwhelmed as she felt. "It's going to be okay. There are a lot of options for young women. And we don't know for sure, so just hit pause." He popped his head out the door to discuss with the nurse and order the required tests.

She came in with a syringe, the doctor following, "Arm out, she'll take the blood. Is it okay if I take a look at your wounds now?"

"Is there any way to reduce the scars?" She asked, immediately feeling stupid given the source for the concern. The rubber drew tight around her bicep while he peeled back her gown. She had to concentrate hard on the fact that he was a doctor, an objective doctor. That he was not evaluating her for a beauty contest.

"You had excellent suturing, these scars are going to be barely visible in the end. Over time, they'll fade." He commented, "Just be patient." He pressed down on her rib cage under the exit would in her chest. They'd already spent hours putting plates in place to reconstruct and reattach.

"Any pain?"

She cringed a little, but not much. He let her pull the thin sheet back over herself putting on his most assuring smile.

"You're lucky you get to form scars. I don't know how it missed your heart."

The nurse invited her to take a walk down the hallway. The first stop was the water fountain for three cups of fluid that would make her light up like neon on the scan. The second was the room with the tubular machine that could dissect her like a frog in science class with half the mess and a million times the precision.

Setting up the machine took so long, they started without the blood results; although, she could tell the technicians were dawdling. The clock hand ticked loudly, around the face and she battled between nearly hyperventilating and bargaining with the unjust God she hoped existed. Somewhere during it they took a swab of her nose but she didn't even remember it, just felt the lasting sting.

The nurses crowded around the computer on the counter, waiting for a little line of text to appear from another lab somewhere in the building, each one watching their wrists and trading sideways glances at the teen in trouble in the chair. And then they sighed together.

"What does that mean?" One asked, out loud while another took the mouse.

"Why can't we just say yes or no?" another moaned, then confirmed, "One is negative, yeah, one is negative, see the explanation?"

"You can breath, little one, its negative. You're not pregnant." They stepped away with more purpose, fiddling with the last settings.

"You're OK for the scan."

They didn't let her rest in the relief for very long. They asked her to lay very still on the plank a white cross centered on her breastbone. The machine sounded like gunfire. Without fail, it delivered her into the hands of her memories.

She fought off the feeling of panic and terror. She knew that it was neurons that the associated rapid fire with the image of Will on the ground and her mother falling in the gap between the buildings. They crushed the memories together as if they didn't happen thousands of feet apart. But she managed to breath through it to take the escort back to the room.

Ten more minutes until the doctor came back, "Swabs confirm it, Bacterial Pneumonia." He was writing a prescription, "And the blood test came up negative, which I must say is a relief to me, must be to you. You're probably late because of the infection or the changes to your medication that we discussed last time. While I'm writing, would you want to go on birth control? Avoid this business in the future?"

"What is it? How's it work?" He looked at her like she was an alien but she was just Abnegation.

"There are a few options. There are pills that you can take every day that will prevent your body from releasing eggs; but you have to make sure you take it. You can discontinue at any time, or by accident, and _still_  get pregnant." He emphasized.

"There is also an implant that we can put into your arm that lasts five years, give or take three months, does the same thing. I find that most women your age opt for the implant."

Then he paused, looking at her carefully before continuing, "There are certain diseases that get passed through sexual contact, unless you have a health report for your partner, you should also be using condoms to protect yourself. So, which do you want?"

"Me being divergent, that won't influence it?"

"No, it's hormones, not mind control." He smirked, which she didn't appreciate.

"The implant sounds fine." She left with a spreading bruise on the back of her left arm, no intention of ever making use of it, another bottle of pills for the regiment, and the promise of scan results the next day.

She returned to work, a meeting between the Amity and the former-factionless to discuss the supply needs for supporting the spring planting. Therese and her cohorts devolved quickly into paranoia and infighting. But her mind was swallowed in the what-ifs, accidents and implications of implants. It felt like too little too late when it should have felt empowering.


	27. Tris Claims a Room

Deleted from Chapter 28, before Lauren comes to the apartment.

Why? To speed up the chapter. The argument was originally at the start of CH29, and that made CH28 feel too much like a filler chapter and delayed the action, but it was already at 5k words. So I turned my faith over to Milner and asked her to chop unnecessary stuff to try and squeeze stuff together and re-align the chapter splits.

So why was this written in the first place? To further showcase Tris getting back to her old self, reclaiming her identity, and to set up that she has a place to stay.

* * *

Christina had to use her shoulder to get her door to open. The apartment had been empty for a while, and the humidity on the top floor made the paint on the door stick to the frame. Stepping in was like rewinding the clock to the morning of the attack on Abnegation. Dishes had been forgotten in the sink, presumably from the night before. The smell of mold and decay surrounded the refrigerator. Magnets held reminders and photos.

"Gross." Christina wrinkled her nose, tying off the bag of garbage from the trashcan and quickly carrying it to the hallway.

"Open a window." Derrick waved in front of his nose. "I thought they said it was empty."

"Unoccupied." Tris reminded.

"Filthy traitor." Derrick pushed the window open and started to shuffle through the papers on the table. "Rooster Stallway. Son-of-a-bitch." He smirked, "I hated that guy."

"Well?" Christina looked for cleaning supplies, "Who wants dibs on the refrigerator."

"Oh no, I'm here to move you in. Not clean up." Zeke started backing out the door, Tris grabbed his shirt and pulled him in. "Easy, short stack, I'd hate to have to flip you."

"First to whine, you can do the fridge." Tris shoved him into the kitchen.

"Come on stiff, don't be selfish." Zeke teased, but she was already turning to explore the connecting rooms.

"Hey, Chris, there's two bedrooms."

"Yeah, which one you want?" She asked, stepping in behind her.

Tris dropped her voice, "I have an apartment."

"If you're coming back to Dauntless, you have to live here." She reminded.

"Yeah, I guess, I... It's a little soon. I'm not ready."

"Yeah, you are."

"I'm not even in, yet."

"You'll be in soon. Just pick a room."

"And if I don't make it?"

"You'll make it. So pick a room." Christina insisted, filling a bag with the clothes strewn all around the apartment.

Tris took a big breath and looked from one room to the next. They seemed to be about the same size, only one was nearly empty, barely used by the previous tenant. The stiff in her wanted to claim the dirtiest room, take the responsibility of cleaning it up. A niggling thought in the back of her mind brought a mischievous smirk. Christina would assume she'd pick the dirty one, that's why she said she could choose.

"I'll take this one." She declared, flopping on the bare mattress and hearing the squeak of the springs.

"You sure?" Christina deadpanned from the hallway.

"Yeah, I like the floor plan." She smiled, kicking her feet and looking around, only a few dust bunnies cluttered the corners.

"Positive?"

"Yeah, I better get to cleaning, it's a pit." Tris hopped off the bed and went to get the broom, barely containing a giggle seeing the glare that followed her down the hallway.

Zeke was gagging as he lifted spoiled items and got something sticky on his hands. "Someone get me a washrag." He groaned.

"What's wrong? It's just a little… what is that?" Tris peered over his shoulder, her hand landing on his back as she leaned.

"I don't know. I think it's drippings from meat."

"Ew." Tris stepped up to the dirty plates in the sink and searched the drawers for a rag, finding one crumpled up under a pot holder. She wet it and crouched next to Zeke. "You big baby." She reached over him and started to strip layers of goo off the shelf.

Zeke was blocked by the bag and the door and Tris's warm body. He leaned closer to her, letting the scent of her soap replace the noxious odors. When she moved away, Zeke looked to see if there were any other spills on the shelves that needed cleaning.

 


	28. Story Snippets 16

**SNIPPETS!**

* * *

He reads the names on the sheet and checks the faces in front of him. He thought they'd be older, taller, teenagers with attitudes and acne. But one is so small he wonders if she's really seven. Overall, they are sullen and scared. Each one has a stack of blankets, a pillow, a bag and one more thing in common: they're orphans. He can't shake the feeling that no one thought it through when they pulled the trigger and pressed the plungers to deliver these kids onto the mercy of a broken faction.

* * *

Tris may be the only woman he wants to make love to, cuddle with, make promises in vulnerable moments with; but she's not the only one he wants to fuck. He'd never touch them when he has her, but it doesn't stop his mind from wondering in the training room, when he's on belay and any girl's ass is just above him and he's not aloud to look away. The view is good.

* * *

The aftermath is silent compared to the storm that finally blew through. Both of them knew it was coming, but he didn't expect to be back on his heels reeling from her truths. He knew he was right, knew everyone was on his side, until they weren't. He couldn't lift his eyes to meet anyone's. He couldn't bare the pressure of their glances. He was squeezed from the room to struggle on his own. To find some way to be better, to be wrong gracefully, to apologize to her, to them, to admit that the damned therapist had given him this weeks before and to contemplate if she was entirely right or if he could still be stubborn.

* * *

He's never looked vulnerable before. He's been scared, he's been open, he's begged her and threatened her. But there isn't enough fight left in him to cover the raw nerves. Just the breeze of her movement makes him squirm in pain. She knows she owes it to him to give him something back, a truth to build on.

* * *

Everyone has a game plan. She certainly had one. When he said he was going to Amity, she needed a vacation, an excuse to get him by himself, away from all the other girls and Four's tempering influence. The rest she could handle - short term guaranteed - the long term she was less prepared for. Now, on the way back with his undivided devotion, she was starting to panic.


	29. Original Gun Range

**Originally, I was going to tackle Tris's issues with guns earlier in the story and with a much different approach. But it didn't quite fit where I had planned it. And then it didn't fit at all. So I used bits and pieces but in the end CH31 was very different.**

* * *

Training with Four was a lot different than being trained by Four. He said it would be harder, that she believed, but she was searching for the nicer side of him he promised. She'd change in the member's locker room, thankful for the privacy she missed in initiation. Then ran four laps around the training room by herself because running with him was too much, too fast. Then they'd meet in the middle.

She felt a strangling constriction in her throat the first time he put a handgun in front of her. The smell of the range and the POP! POP! POP! of other members pinching rounds quickened her pulse and made her sweat.

"Just hold it." He suggested, checking the chamber and pulling the clip. "It's not even loaded."

She put both hands out and he placed it on her palms. Her pulse picked up, he watched her eyes focus in and her nostrils narrow.

"Hold it right." He had the edge of the instructor, and she turned it in her palm. "Now hold it out in front of you."

He stood to her side, she took a deep breath and raised it up.

"Breath in. One, two, three." He counted. "Out, two, three. Breath in and on three, squeeze." He saw her finger twitch, but it didn't compress. "It's okay, out, and in, and squeeze." She pulled and the action clicked. She let it fall heavy in her hand down to her thighs.

Tris dove to the side and vomited mostly dry heaves and acid. He scurried to get the gun out of her hands and uneasily rubbed her back. He monitored her, wide-eyed and concerned, waiting for her to lash out at him, to give him what he deserves for pushing her. It seemed like a good idea, helping her to face her fears. But with each convulsion of her stomach, he started to have his doubts. The glare in her eyes was deepened by the petechiae splotching around her sockets and the red rimmed lids washed with tears. He pushed her to the locker room muttering his concerns and waited, leaving it up to her to decide if she was done or just freshening up.

He leans up against the wall waiting, wondering if she'll talk to him. Zeke offers him a bit of a protein bar, he initially waves it off, but he insists.

"Come on, thin-fuck." He pushes it back on him. "Protein, calories, tasty..."

"Don't call me that." he warns, taking the bar and reluctantly chewing.

"Eat up and I won't have to. Where's Tris?"

"In there." He points.

"Oh, well, you should invite her over Friday." He shrugged, then moved along, like his only mission was to feed him.

Tris appeared leaning with a humph against the door, still in her workout gear, now dampened by water dribbling off her hair and face. She smiled weakly and dropped his eye contact with embarrassment. That same feeling rushed over him, wanting to wake her up, push her and steadies his resolve.

"Next time, you have to clean up after yourself." He warned with a playful nudge, putting his arm around her. "I think that went well." She glared at him, not realizing until she was standing at the table that he'd brought her back to the gun range.

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely." He pushed it towards her holding his face tight. "Take a breath and pick it up."

"No." She narrowed her eyes at him, balking away.

"It's not negotiable." He eyed her, her face struck in disgust until she reached out and curled her hands around the gun then her expression relaxed into contemplation. "Point it down the range." Her hands shook. "Breath and squeeze." And she did. Relaxing, "Again." And she did. "Again." He played out his compulsion for repetition on her until her arms didn't go slack between.

"Ready?" He asked, loading a second weapon and handing it to her.

"No." Her voice was small. He moved around behind her and put his arms on the outside of hers.

"Breath in, two, three, out: two, three; in, two, three, squeeze." He pulled her finger back with his and the gun went off. His lips quickly found her temple, the first kindness she could feel in the whole process. "Amazing. Now again."

He held her as they waited for the train, his arms wrapped around her's. Both their hands smelling like gun powder and her was mind blank, tired. They didn't even look at the target when she was finished, a bullseye wasn't his goal.

"You did well." But there was more content in his sigh than his words. His breath and his squeeze calmly assured her she was okay. "I'll see you Friday. Zeke's invited us over, if you want to." She shrugged in agreement before stretching onto her tip toes for a quick kiss and ran to jump. Four watched her swing herself into the opening, disappearing at speed back to the city.

The training regime he'd designed for himself, with her parts included, ensured they only had a dozen minutes to stand and relax. Just a dozen minutes where he tried to calm down, lose the rage that built up after a full day of frustration and enjoy her rather than hate her. But tonight was different, he didn't feel angry, stiffled, or lacking; he felt proud - of her and his being able to help her.


	30. Story Snippets 17

**More Snippets from the Tumblr page.**

* * *

Something was wrong, she could tell the instant she locked eyes with him. He was stiff, cold, reserved. She didn't expect it when he dropped her off with a larger group and disappeared with less than a word.

* * *

Busy… Everyone has said he's busy. For four weeks he's been too busy to say hi, too busy to watch from the side, too busy to be at Sunday dinner. Busy with what? Can't say. When he finally shows up to gather her, he's too busy for an explanation but his smile makes it okay, seeing him well and whole and awkwardly complimenting her progress with a blushing grin makes it okay. Not perfect, not acceptable, but bearable, because the alternative was getting hard to live with.

* * *

Defeat is the only ugly look he's ever seen on her, probably because it reflects the affects of his inner monster right back at him. Its the only time she shrinks to be smaller than herself, when she fits in her skeleton and even retracts. It hurts that he has that power over her. Its worse when he can't backpedal out of it, when it lingers like a scab.

* * *

This should feel like a gift, but receiving presents isn't something either one is practiced at. So its strange and straining, confusing and he ends up staring, holding himself and contemplating how much of this wall, his armor, should or can fall to the wayside. She let's the light of excitement wane til she's resigned and looking for any excuse to leave before he chucks his better judgement and let's the comfort of her call him in.


	31. Story Snippets 19

**The great snippet migration from Tumblr continues.**

* * *

He would say he was a night owl, but there is something in h that relishes seeing both the start and end of a day. Sunsets he can see from the hall outside the control room and he watches them everyday moving window by window as the earth rotates his perspective. But sunrises he has to watch from the roof or the east hall both just outside of his tether's range. It weighs on him almost as much as living on stolen glances through rough lenses as she lives without him, without explanation.

* * *

Some cameras are so scratched that its more shadow puppets than video feed. While his shift is three hours over, it means he can watch what ever feed he wants and he's been stewing over the training room for an hour. She shows up everyday dressed in black with her bag over her shoulder. She started small, bagged in draping shirts nervously disappearing behind her bag. But as the weeks pass and she gets stronger, she becomes bigger than garments and bolder than shyness. She claims the spaces around her with her fiery presence. But he's not the only one watching, he is the only one just watching. When she cuts her hair up to her chin in an asymmetrical bob, he's stuck watching them move in like hungry predators, only he's far more helpless than she is.

* * *

His body hurts to be curled so twisted on the hot vinyl of someone's couch. The crick in his neck and the ache of his back compete with the stone bruised throb of his feet for his attention. All that's before the inflammation of his handover comes overbearing and with fleeting memories. Lauren is plastered to one side of him, arms snaked around his middle, Rafael to the other with his legs draped across his own. He groaned in embarrassment, if this was anything like the last time, pictures of him dancing would already be making the rounds between the kids, his coworkers. He retched thinking of some incriminating grind between him and some girl being put in front of Tris. Would she accept just alcohol or would he have to admit to the peace serum too?

* * *

Purple bruises matching his hands were quickly spreading from the initial red on her shoulders. His eyes had been black against the whites instantly pushing her into recollections of Jeanine's torture. The way he slammed her into the mattress three times and cursed with each, she was sure he'd reach for her neck. But all he did was scream, "Damn it, Steven! Run!"  
Eyes from some other place, some other time searched her crinkling face until his jaw slackened and the blues started to peel out from his pupils. Then he started to shake, releasing her to cry in her panic while he retreated behind the bathroom door. She timidly approached, wishing she wasn't in a tank top.


	32. Story Snippets 20

**Story Snippets... guesses and theories are always fun for me.**

* * *

She's pulling her shirt off before he can protest. Any comment that was on its way out his lips was quickly replaced by an intense desire to have her legs on his shoulders while he's buried into her. He's weak willed and this never happens – not to him. He even cups her breast in his palm before the shock of her face, a stranger's smile and a stranger's eyes, brings back his awkward ability to flee.

* * *

He has to focus. Eyes are on them, judging, and this will take a lot of affection. He has a three day plan and day one involves cleaning guns in the store room where she can smell them and hear the pops at the range. Amar is reading their body language, talking Harrison off the ledge. Because when she shakes and starts to pull away, he has no choice but to close her in with a forceful arm around her back.

* * *

It seemed fitting to have broken bones in his hand. He felt undeniably marked but it was a hurt he had to carry inside. He never did well internalizing only, so the throb of swelling and the sting in movement made him think of it as a wound that time would heal. At the same time, she was the victim and his outrage on her behalf was stemming from his ownership of her, his entitled and selfish right to protect her, even without permission. He wondered if it made him weak, a coward to absorb her as part of himself; or if it would make her weak, not taking care of her own problems.


	33. Story Snippets 21

**More Snippets - Hazard a guess or theory in the reviews**

* * *

He doesn't care what she's wearing when she's in his bed, until its humid and hot and he comes home to her splayed on the mattress. She isn't wearing his shirt or bound up in her flannel pajamas. Its a simple, tight tank top and panties that curve over her ass and accentuates the subtle bend in her waist. Usually, when its closer to lunch than sunset, he falls onto bed, but tonight he has to touch, slip the cotton off her and satiate the thrum of his chest and the twitch in his pants. She's barely conscious of how he rocks unto her and teeters her one thrust after the other over and back until the edge is a knife biting between her thighs with want. And she tumbles, surrounded by him back into a sedate and ordinary dream.

* * *

Sleeping together is frustratingly focused on sleeping. Some nights she's thankful, having heard about other boys groping other girls into either type of exhaustion. But there's more, always more, because there's a security in knowing he desires her. In the absence of being pursued, she has ample doubt to contemplate.

* * *

It exhausts him to patiently wait and let her fall asleep in his arms. He has to mind his hands and watch his hips, monitor his kisses. Because he never wants to see her resign herself to him again. He never wants to feel like her attacker the way he felt when she compressed in on herself and prepared to be broken. He's terrified to do anything but hold her and shield her from the world.


End file.
